Sofia "Skip" Hughes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wolfmarked) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2016-02-08 01:50 pm
wolfmarked) wrote in undergrounds2016-02-08 01:50 pm
Entry tags:
Anklebiters (Feb open post)
Why do you care what people think?
Department store, early February
"No. No, no, no. Also no."
To say that Skip is picky is... Well. It's very accurate. But Lupercalia with a new pack isn't exactly an every day occurrence. What she does and what she wears there will get back to her father, so she actually has to put some thought into all of it. Even if she'd rather just ignore everything that happens in the middle of February.
"Purple and gold, maybe?" she says, half to herself and half to whatever poor person might be walking too close.
Try to remember how it felt
Jolly Roger, all February
On the clock, Skip has only two settings. She is either excessively friendly or incredibly short-tempered. The usual good will of her as a bartender is sorely lacking, and woe to the person who implies that anything related to her being female has any bearing on the situation. Women are given proper service with a fair amount of friendliness, but men are singled out more than usual as either targets of her rage or objects of her interest. In the bar itself and in the back room.
"'Nother round?" she asks, stopping at a customer to collect what's empty.
Fall in love with yourself
Coffee shop, mid February
February and Skip simply do not get along. She's on edge far more than usual, especially when out and about. And being out with her sketchpad, sitting at a table by the window. It's deceptively warm with the sun pouring in.
The drawing she's working on is of a skeleton, laying back against a bush. Thorns have encircled the ribs, and, in the center of his chest, there is a single rose where the heart should be.
Skip sips her coffee as she sketches in details.
The only one you've got
Simon's flat, February 17th -- closed to Simon
Lupercalia is done. Valentine's Day is over. And Skip can finally start pretending that this month doesn't exist. She still hates February, yes, but at least it's almost done.
So, after a bit of warning -- mostly to make sure they're alone -- she's at the door, holding a bottle of vodka and dressed in an blue ombre cocktail dress.
A broken mirror to reflect
North Pole, late February
Dressed in thigh-high tights and a skirt that barely covers the top of them, Skip is completely at home in the noise of the club.
Tonight, she has only one goal: not going home alone. Maybe not going home at all.
With the music pounding in her ears, she sways to the beat and moves from partner to partner on the dancefloor. The more eyes she can get on her, the better.
When she does take a break from dancing, she stays close to the bar, leaning against it and making sure her cup stays full.
Department store, early February
"No. No, no, no. Also no."
To say that Skip is picky is... Well. It's very accurate. But Lupercalia with a new pack isn't exactly an every day occurrence. What she does and what she wears there will get back to her father, so she actually has to put some thought into all of it. Even if she'd rather just ignore everything that happens in the middle of February.
"Purple and gold, maybe?" she says, half to herself and half to whatever poor person might be walking too close.
Try to remember how it felt
Jolly Roger, all February
On the clock, Skip has only two settings. She is either excessively friendly or incredibly short-tempered. The usual good will of her as a bartender is sorely lacking, and woe to the person who implies that anything related to her being female has any bearing on the situation. Women are given proper service with a fair amount of friendliness, but men are singled out more than usual as either targets of her rage or objects of her interest. In the bar itself and in the back room.
"'Nother round?" she asks, stopping at a customer to collect what's empty.
Fall in love with yourself
Coffee shop, mid February
February and Skip simply do not get along. She's on edge far more than usual, especially when out and about. And being out with her sketchpad, sitting at a table by the window. It's deceptively warm with the sun pouring in.
The drawing she's working on is of a skeleton, laying back against a bush. Thorns have encircled the ribs, and, in the center of his chest, there is a single rose where the heart should be.
Skip sips her coffee as she sketches in details.
The only one you've got
Simon's flat, February 17th -- closed to Simon
Lupercalia is done. Valentine's Day is over. And Skip can finally start pretending that this month doesn't exist. She still hates February, yes, but at least it's almost done.
So, after a bit of warning -- mostly to make sure they're alone -- she's at the door, holding a bottle of vodka and dressed in an blue ombre cocktail dress.
A broken mirror to reflect
North Pole, late February
Dressed in thigh-high tights and a skirt that barely covers the top of them, Skip is completely at home in the noise of the club.
Tonight, she has only one goal: not going home alone. Maybe not going home at all.
With the music pounding in her ears, she sways to the beat and moves from partner to partner on the dancefloor. The more eyes she can get on her, the better.
When she does take a break from dancing, she stays close to the bar, leaning against it and making sure her cup stays full.
no subject
...Oh god she's such a girl right now. He doesn't know how to deal with this. Skip has never once been anything but Skip before.
"Do I need to call 999?"
He asks as he pulls back into traffic. He's not going to take her anywhere but his place. It's safe and he knows the way back better than he does the way to Skip's aunts.
no subject
She's trying hard to actually remember what happened. Because one minute she was grinding against a guy, her hand in his hair... and the next, she felt blood on her hand and someone grabbing her.
"Everythin' went dark an' people started-- started screamin'--"
Someone else would tell the authorities. Someone else could deal with the responsibility. All she wants is to get to her basement and lock the door. And know she's safe because she always rescinds invitations in when she shows someone out. And that part is hers. Isn't it? Will that still keep out someone her aunt invited in?
Even just thinking about that has her crying again and thrashing a little in her seat because she can't do anything else.
"It was jus' s'posed t' be a party."
no subject
James is having a hard time imagining it but Skip being covered in blood and shaking and crying in the passenger seat is pretty damning evidence that she isn't lying. He'll call his firm, get the cleaners out there to make sure nobody tries to torch the place - he wants the Night Council to know about this.
He needs to call Coward too.
All this is racing through his mind while he drives by route and he knows Skip can react violently to things she doesn't like - so he doesn't touch her either, as much as he wants to.
Before he knows it, they've pulled up to his place.
James doesn't think to ask if this is where she wanted to go. All he can think of is getting her inside. He opens her door for her and offers his hand, if she wants to take it.
no subject
"I got blood all over." It's stated in a very quiet, very calm way. Because all she can see is the blood. So much blood. It doesn't look real now. "I know a few tricks for getting it out. I'll take care of it."
Never mind that she's still almost drenched in drying blood. Her mind has separated itself from that entirely. Instead, it's focused on what she can see and what she can do something about: the bloody car seat.
no subject
James helps her into the elevator, texting the cleaners to tell them to take care of his car and the elevator where Skip was standing. She was barefoot, he noticed. And it was so surreal that he couldn't help asking:
"What happened to your shoes?"
no subject
She can remember falling. Under the blood of other people, she has a skinned knee to show for it, too. But one heel had caught on something slick as she tried to make her way out, then, on the ground, she'd realised she was wearing them.
She looks at him, almost like she isn't really seeing him.
"You can't run in heels."
no subject
"Good to know." he says instead, swallowing heavily to breath through his mouth as if that'll help. He can still taste the blood in the air.
The lift stops at his floor and James peeks out to make sure no one will see them - because questions right now sound like a bad time - before heading to his flat.
"I have something you can change into. Can you find the bathroom on your own?"
He wouldn't have a problem helping her there, but he didn't know if Skip's pride was still there or if she'd left it on the dance floor with her shoes.
no subject
"Yeah," she mutters, almost under her breath. "Just bring the clothes in. I'm... going to take a shower."
In the back of her mind, she knew that was a given. Of course she wouldn't just change into clean clothes. But she still felt like she had to say it.
As she crossed the flat toward the bathroom, she stepped carefully, almost balancing on the balls of her feet to some extent, half without meaning to. Because she was trying to get as little of a trail -- if any of the blood wasn't dry -- on the floor as possible. Within a minute or two, she was in the bathroom, and the shower was running.
no subject
As an after though, he grabs a pair of socks for her. Her feet must be cold. The rest of her sure as hell was.
He doesn't knock before coming in - it's his apartment after all, he doesn't think about it - and reaches into the cupboard for a fluffy towel.
"Do you want me to burn it?"
He gestures towards her dress, as he sets down everything on the counter.
no subject
The voice doesn't come from her height, though. It comes from low, and the figure behind the distorted glass door isn't standing. She's either sitting or kneeling under the very hot water. Because as soon as the blood started falling off her, her knees had gone weak. For now, this would do.
The dress has been joined with the pink and white polka dotted bra and panties, both of which had blood that seeped through the dress and such. She never wanted to see any of those clothes again.
no subject
Skip would be able to hear, if she was even paying attention, James slid down to sit on the bathroom floor while texting on his phone.
He'd call Coward later tonight. Right now he needed to call out of work for the coming day.
no subject
She's never felt so helpless. So scared. And she can't shake it, even though she knows she's safe now.
no subject
James goes to the door with the intent of opening it but...hesitates. He's been a human longer than he's been a werewolf and he's been instilled with the lesson that you don't walk into a bathroom while a girl is in it. You just don't. He was already violating that now, and it felt like he would be taking it a bit too far if he opened the door.
No doubt she could see his silhouette through the foggy glass if she looked.
"Skip?"
no subject
It's muttered and way too shaky for her to actually like how she sounds. But she feels vulnerable and terrified and shaken. She wants all of this to be over. And she can't just talk to him. She doesn't deal with people who do this, and she doesn't do it to other people.
no subject
He wasn't going to push. Not right now. She was relatively safe in there, as long as she didn't try to hurt herself - which she didn't seem like she'd do. Skip was more the type to hurt others.
"I'll be outside."
James would call Coward and speak with him until Skip came out.
no subject
"Who was that?" she murmured, nodding toward the phone he'd just put down.
no subject
"Contact in Scotland Yard."
Skip was - James was finding - becoming something of a confidant to him. No matter how much he might trust her though, he wasn't going to name names. It may prove too dangerous.
"Do you want to stay?"
He'd take her back to her aunts if she wanted, but it was probably very obvious that he didn't want to ask that question.
no subject
It's easy to try and joke. She tries to offer a smile before she approaches him and sits nearby. Close. But not sultry. Just close. Which is as much of an answer as she'll actually give about whether or not she wants to stay.
no subject
"As much as I can be, I guess."
He wasn't going to say as much, but he was practically losing his mind with how close he was to Alpha. It was just on the other side of a glass door, taunting him.
"You can take my bed."
They'd had sex many times at this point. But sleeping together they had yet to really do. And he didn't want to push her to it now. She didn't need that.
no subject
Just like that, she sees the darkness. Smells the blood. Hears the screams. Her throat feels raw from her own shouting.
"Then? You're going to be Alpha."
Rather than say anything about the bed, though, she sits up a little more and presses her lips against his jaw, dragging them down the curve of it slightly.
no subject
He does, however, turn his head just enough to capture her lips with his instead of letting her trail them along his jaw.
no subject
Then, she lowers her head and kisses him lightly. Teasingly, almost.
no subject
Sure, she might be using this to forget or distract herself, but seeing Skip so vulnerable and human has brought an odd sense of peace to this.
It might not end well, but James can't resist cupping her jaw in his hands and returning the kiss with a solid and pointed gentleness.